


dirty souls

by angrylizardjacket (ephemeralstar)



Series: this must be just like living in paradise [16]
Category: The Dirt (2019)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Angst with a Happy Ending, Child Abuse, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, F/M, Idiots in Love, Physical Abuse, Soulmate-Identifying Marks
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-18
Updated: 2020-05-18
Packaged: 2021-03-02 17:07:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,201
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24250312
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ephemeralstar/pseuds/angrylizardjacket
Summary: SOULMATE AU: Some people are born with a tattoo that represents their soulmate, in the place their soulmate with first touch them. You would think this makes life easier, but it just makes those with soulmarks into spectacles.
Relationships: Nikki Sixx/Original Female Character(s)
Series: this must be just like living in paradise [16]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1357720
Kudos: 16





	dirty souls

In a world where having a soulmark is about as rare as winning the lottery, Lola - _then Katie_ -, much to her parents surprise, was born with a broken record on her shoulder. At first they thought it was a birth mark, but it was too dark to be any ordinary birth make, and it grew as she did, solidifying it’s shape and colour by her fourth birthday. The image itself was raised, unlike a normal tattoo, and the vinyl image was thick and dark, and the label was bright red, but unreadable, and she loved it; it was the size of a hand, stretching from her shoulder blade all the way to her shoulder, with a single crack breaking the perfect circle.

“Whoever that’s for, is either gonna love or hate music,” her father, Leo, had told her once, grinning as Katie, on her tiptoes, watched a copy of Elton John’s _Honky Chateau_ spin on the record player, bopping to _Honky Cat_. She was five then, still not quite understanding just what it meant to have the record on her shoulder. It didn’t matter, Leo was more than happy to go through his entire record collection with her.

Her parents hadn’t been soulmates, no-one she knew had a soulmate, she was the only kid in her entire school district with a soulmark. Of course she knew soulmates existed, she’d been logged into the American Soulmate Registry since her parents had confirmed that it wasn’t just a regular birthmark. As of 1975, there were 1032 people with soulmarks in America, 230 of whom had found each other, which left 801 potential soulmates in America, and 17 in Massachusetts with her. There’s countless others all over the world, should anyone wish to investigate, each country with their own Registry of sorts.

Later, when she was older and angrier, she’d be mad at the system, at the invasive nature of it all, would be glad she changed her name and ran away, to avoid anyone looking for her, hoping she means something to them. Destiny was just a new excuse to stalk someone. But now, it was just a sort of abstract concept, a mark that would mean something eventually, but didn’t right now.

What it meant for her now was questions from _everyone_ , teachers and parents more than students, people eager to know what it was like to be destined for someone else.

 _Weird_.

That was always her answer. Everyone else felt so entitled to her life that she felt like a spectacle; she couldn’t imagine the pressure the few celebrity soulmate couples would be under. When everyone had been excited over the news that there had been a new listing added to the registry, Katie had always pittied them.

Despite all the pressure on her from the world around her, her father was always a calming force, always told her ‘ _you’re in no rush, it’ll happen when it happens, I promise Lola, don’t let that stop you from being yourself and enjoying your life’._ He had always called her Lola, a nickname derived from her birth name Keola, which he prefer to her mother-given nickname of Katie. Soon, Katie would prefer Lola too.

Everyone else, her mother included, was so ready for her to find _the one_ that it was a little overwhelming.

“Where did you get these?” Leo asks, eyes tired as he sees the papers in her mother’s hand, having just tucked Lola in for the night. “This is _stalking_ , Irene, just because you found them in the phonebook doesn’t make it right; it’s _destiny,_ it’ll happen when it happens.”

“She’ll be happier with them!” Her mother would argue, voice raised loud enough for Lola to hear, to be intrigued, to be lured downstairs in the shadow of the handrail.

“She’s eight, let her be a damn child,” Leo snapped. It would be the first and only time Lola would ever hear anger in her father’s voice. He took the papers Irene was holding, and threw them in the trash. The next day, Lola finds it, sees a print-out of the registry, and addresses written in Irene’s unmistakable, perfect handwriting. 

Leo was Lola’s hero, and losing him was like losing a limb.

Lola was inconsolable for _months_ , could barely stand to leave the house, even as her mother grew weary and irrational.

“Why would he leave? Why would he just leave?” Lola tried to reason with her mother, who insisted that he was still alive, still out there somewhere, just refusing to come home.

“Because you’re here!” Irene had snapped at her daughter, only a few months shy of ten, “you’re meant to be someone else’s problem,” and she shoves Lola’s soulmarked shoulder, and Lola feels cold betrayal pool in her stomach. Her father had always insisted that the soulmark didn’t change her, but he wasn’t here to defend himself, and she was already so fragile. 

There was a strange, jagged dichotomy in play in their house after that, with Irene insisting she’s too busy to ferry Lola around to her potential soulmates, while also insisting that Lola’s too young to be vising stranger on her own, however she still should be someone else’s problem, so her father can finally come back. All Lola knew was that she was a burden, and for the next six years, that’s all she knew how to feel.

Everything comes to a head the night Lola packs a bag and tells her mother she’s heading for the bus station, a list of addresses for the soulmarked in her state.

“No.” Irene blocks her way to the foyer.

“No? I’m almost sixteen, I can take care of myself -”

“You’re a child, Katie, you’re being delusional.”

“I thought you’d rather I was someone else’s problem?” Lola’s lip curled, and Irene glared at her.

“Not if it’s going to make your father think I’m a bad mother.” And her gaze flicks to the photo of Leo kept on the foyer table, next to the candle she always kept lit for him.

Lola’s mouth gaped open as tears pricked her eyes, and she tries to shoulder past.

“I’m going!” Lola tried to insist, but Irene was stronger, and held her back, “you know what? You are!” She shouted, stumbling back, and Irene looked at her, confused, a little hurt, “you’re a terrible fucking mother, you know that? Maybe the reason dad never came back was because you’re a fucking psycho who keeps pushing your problems onto me!” Lola snarled, tears dripping down her cheeks. 

For a moment, there’s quiet, and Lola thinks she’s won. Trying to pass Irene again, however, she’s barred when Irene sticks her arm out.

“Take it back.” Irene’s voice is cold as ice, and Lola feels fear curl around her heart, “Katie, you take that back,” and Irene turns to her, but something’s snapped inside her mother’s head, and she shoves Lola back, against the table, against the wall, _against the candle._ Demanding louder and louder as Lola starts screaming, with flames curling up her back, Irene’s only focused on Lola taking her words back, rather than the pain she’s putting her daughter through. 

Only when Irene’s hands start burning, and Lola’s whole back and backpack is alight, does she let go, and Lola collapses. The walls and the curtain are already catching, and it’s only moments before the fire department arrives since one of the neighbors calling them, followed by the police, alerted to the young girl’s screaming.

The trial was nation-wide news, and Lola’s face was printed in newspapers alongside the headline ‘ _I Was Punished For Having A Soulmark’;_ even if it was a half-truth, it sold out papers in mere hours _._ Irene was demonized, and _everyone_ in America loved Lola for all of five minutes. A few other soulmarked people found her through the news, asked her where her soulmark was, and Lola, whose soulmark now was a twisted mess of scarring, along with the rest of her back, offered her hand.

“If you’re my soulmate, it doesn’t matter where you touch me, the mark will be there,” and then she prompted them to shake her hand. They did, but none of them were ever her soulmate. 

Frank Ferrana, however, doesn’t watch the news.

He’s seventeen when Lola meets him, covered in tattoos already, along his arms and legs, and a few on his chest, and he’s probably the coolest person she’s ever seen. They’re put into the same group home together, but she can’t bring herself to talk to him at first, too intimidating by him, his tattoos, his leather jackets, the way he smells like smoke and freedom. The ladies at the group home coddle her, and all but wrap her in bubble wrap, and want to know all about her soulmark, and if she’s ever found her soulmate.

“If I had, do you think I’d be here?” Lola asks them over breakfast, voice deadpan. The ladies all look a little guilty, but Frank snorts into his coffee at the other end of the table. He and Lola share a grin, and he gets a little less intimidating in that moment. 

He seems to go see bands every other night, and Lola finds herself staying up, waiting for him. Usually she doesn’t make it, falls asleep on the community sofa at about two in the morning, but this time she brings a book.

When he gets back, he gives her an indecipherable look that turns into a smirk, as he makes his unsteady way to the sofa, and collapses down beside her. When he reaches up, his hand gripping her shoulder for support, she thinks more about the pain of tugging at her newly-healed scars, and not of his hand on the exact spot her mark would be, and shrugs him off, readjusting where the shoulder of her shirt had fallen down.

She asks him where he goes, and he’s terribly evasive,

He calls her Katie, like the ladies do, like her mother did, and it grates on her like nails on a chalk board. No-one used her real name apart from her dad, but he was gone. So that’s the night she decides to take back the one thing her father had left her, the nickname only he used. If he ever came back, he’d be coming back to his Lola.

That night, before she gets in bed, she’ll feel her shoulder stinging, and usually after being touched, the stinging goes away after a few moments, _but it’s still there_. Looking in the mirror, despite the awkward angle, she sees something strange; the record on her shoulder, despite how it’s been disfigured by her scars, is still almost completely the same. Apart from one thing. The record is no longer broken. It’s a complete, black disk with a red label.

_Holy shit._

And she remembers Frank’s hand on her shoulder and the burning sensation and -

The next morning, she introduces herself to him as Lola, wearing a grin that’s all teeth, with butterflies in her stomach. She thinks she remembers seeing a _Frank_ on the registry when she’d checked it a few years ago, and _this must be him_. He _must feel it too_. In the face of her early morning excitement, he rolls his eyes, and immediately acts like an asshole about her new name; even so, she likes the way he says her name. But he’s still _definitely_ an asshole, acting like _nothing happened_ and _nothing changed,_ so she kicks his bare shin, right in his tacky, little unlit candle tattoo, and storms away, missing the way he immediately yelped like she’d burned him.

If he’s going to act like nothing happened, then so will she. Frank Ferrana isn’t her damn soulmate and that’s fine by her. 

More than likely, he doesn’t even have a soulmate.

Even so, he seems to have taken a liking to her.

He seems to want to be around her more often than not, and finally acquiesces and starts taking her to gigs. They get ready at his friend’s house, Nadine, and from the first moment she opens the door, Nadine also takes a shine to her.

“ _You’re_ Miss Lola I’ve heard so much about,” Nadine also does not watch the news, as it turns out, and Frank turns bright at her knowing smile in the face of Lola’s confusion. Everyone knew Katie, but no-one knew Lola. Until now.

Nadine explained that a few years ago, Frank and her brother Joe had been in a band together in Seattle, and Nikki explained the band was the only escape he had from his mother. Nadine and Joe had moved to Boston a year before Frank, and he knew when he ran away from his mom, they’d help him out. Which they did. 

Lola makes a name for herself alongside Frank, as his roadie, slowly becoming his best friend, and much to her own guilt, developing feelings for him. If he wasn’t her soulmate, then it was unfair to her real soulmate if she fell in love with someone else. But Frank’s actually kind of nice to her, and doesn’t treat her like a kid, and yeah, they fool around together, but that’s because they’re _young_. When one of them is spotted, the other one is never far behind. 

Occasionally she catches him giving her a much gentler look than she’d expect, or he’ll gently trace the edge of her soulmark when it peeks out from the top of her shirt, and she wants to ask him, but can’t find the words. He’s the only person she knows who hasn’t asked about it, apart from Nadine. 

But they leave Nadine, and all of Boston behind, heading for sunny LA, and the first night in the back of the van they now call home, Lola, high as hell, traces the tattoos down his arms.

“You have a lot,” Lola says quietly, and Frank makes an indecipherable noise, but turns and plants a gentle kiss on her soulmarked shoulder. Lola has _no idea_ what to read into that. 

They lie and cheat and steal their way into a barely-livable apartment, but it’s home, and Lola’s thrilled, until Frank brings a girl home and Lola’s left on the sofa, her heart aching and traitorous tears in her eyes. She shouldn’t feel betrayed, he’s _not hers_ , and she’s _not his_ ; she’s got someone waiting for her, so getting heartbroken doesn’t even make sense. 

The next day, she’s awake before either of them, up at the crack of dawn since they don’t exactly have curtains to stop the light hitting her on the sofa as it rises. If she sees either of them, she’s pretty sure she’s going to scream, so instead, she decides to speed up destiny, and heads to the public library.

The American Soulmate Registry is publicly accessible, incase people like Lola want to find each other, and each entry lists the person’s full name, year of birth, and state where they were born. It’s far too easy to sort by year of birth, and pick everyone within three years of her. Usually soulmates are close in age, though there are few exceptions, the universe seems to know what’s best. As the list is printing, Lola’s at the front desk asking for a directory. The man at the desk is skeptical, people looking like Lola usually only use the directories to start fires. But then Lola’s pulling at the shoulder of her shirt and batting her eyes.

“Please, I’m looking for my soulmate; you wouldn’t stand in the way of destiny, would you?” She asks, and he’s all but bending over backwards to help her out. Lola thanks him sweetly, and heads to the printer where the list is taking an age to print out. 

One by one, she reads the names, mulling over them; there’s about 59 in her age range, and a few of them sound kind of exciting. Charlotte Lee, 1961, CA; probably not too far away -

_Frank Ferrana Jr. 1959. CA._

She rips the paper out of the printer before it can finish the rest of the list, running back to the apartment. 

The woman from the night before is in her kitchen, drinking coffee, and she gives a sleepy smile, but Lola ignores her, heading for the bathroom where she heard the shower running. Kicking in the door, she’s unsurprised by Frank’s angry yell, but she just pulls the curtain to the side and holds up the paper.

“Fucking knock!” Frank tries to pull the curtain back around, but Lola forces it open.

“You have a fucking soulmark?” Lola all but yells, and his expression drops. He blinks slowly. “Why the fuck are you hanging around me if you know you’ve got someone else out there for you?” She asked, “this’ll only end badly!”

“Why are you with me?” He demanded in return, stark naked, glaring, and Lola drops her gaze, pressing her lips together in a thin line.

“Because I-” looking furtively around, Lola spots the girl in the door frame, gawking at the pair of them, “can you fuck off?” The girl’s eyebrows rise, and Lola stalks towards the door, slamming it closed in the girl’s face. Turning back, Frank is still looking at her with an expectant, half-angry expression.

“I’m a masochist, okay? I’m half convinced you’re my soulmate and even if you’re not, I kind of... kind of... I love you, or whatever.”

“You think I’m your soulmate?” Frank’s voice is soft, and Lola finally looks him in the eyes, nervous and raw and vulnerable. “Why didn’t you say anything?”

“Because you acted like nothing happened -”

“ _You_ acted like nothing happened!” Frank fires back, stepping out of the shower to put his leg up on the sink. Dripping wet, naked, and not exactly in a flattering pose, he gestures to the flame tattooed on his shin. She’d never paid much attention to it amid all the others, but she remembers thinking it was tacky that it was unlit; _why would anyone want an unlit candle_? But there, a little, orange flame lights the wick at the top of the candle, and when Lola reaches out, she feels how it’s raised, like hers was. 

“Right where you kicked me,” he told her, and Lola’s mouth opened in shock, before scrambling to take off her shirt, to show her tattoo.

“This used to be broken, but you -! The night we first talking, you -” he presses a kiss to the tattoo, kissing his way up her neck to her lips, but she pulls back, eyes wide; “we’re the dumbest people I know.” She whispers, and he snorts a laugh.

“Almost like we’re made for each other.”

And that’s enough for her to kiss him, and now she knows why it feels like it makes _sense_. 

Things don’t change much after that, not on the surface. Soon, Frank becomes Nikki, and Lola finds herself music that the registry might never know what happened to them, and that she really doesn’t care. Lola gets new tattoos at Nikki’s suggestion. As it turns out, he’d gotten tattoos to distract from his soulmark, so people would stop asking questions, and it works. 

People can’t tell anymore, and Lola’s not the little girl from the news that everyone knew, and she’s so glad to no longer be recognized. All anyone knows is that Nikki and Lola are a package deal, and that if you mess with one, you’re going to bring on the wrath of the other. 

“Did your mom really set you on fire because of this?” Nikki asks, tracing the warped ridges of her tattoo one night. Lola huffed a laugh, pressing her face into her pillow for a moment.

“Not because of it, because of my dad, and... her own delusions, I think,” she mused, “she wanted so badly for me to be someone else’s problem, and growing up, dad would always be taking care of me, but then he died, and she was stuck with this kid who, looking back on it, I think she resented me for taking dad’s attention, but now she couldn’t just ship me off to some stranger, even if they were my soulmate, because everyone would think she’s an awful mother.”

“She sounds awful already-”

“Oh, don’t get me wrong, she was atrocious,” Lola agrees, “but the mark was an out for when I was too old for dad to look after, but then he was gone and I was still there.”

“That sucks,” Nikki muttered, wrapping an arm around her, and Lola snuggled up to him, humming in agreement, “my mom always hoped my mark was something she could use, like my soulmate would be some billionaire, and I’d make her rich because she found them or whatever.” He snickers, rolling his eyes. 

“She put adds in papers across the country, basically selling me; people wanted to meet their soulmate so badly that they’d pay her fifty bucks to have me touch them. It sounds a lot worse in hindsight,” his expression sours, and Lola runs her nails in a gentle rhythm up and down his arm.

“What if my mom had seen one of those ads, and we met back then?” Lola asks softly, smiling gently. Nikki blinks for a few moments, coming out of his memories, before looking back at Lola.

“Was your family rich?”

“Not especially; dad owned a little burger joint, but mom ran it into the ground out of spite after he left,” Lola admitted, and Nikki shrugged.

“Then my mom would probably act like nothing happened, even if it did -”

“And my mom would probably insist that I was her problem now.”

“It’s why I ran,” Nikki admitted, “I didn’t want anyone else to be trapped with her, least of all the person who was supposed to love me for the rest of my life, you know?” And Lola sighs, and gives him a nod and a squeeze of support, “I’m glad we met how we did.” He admits.

“Me too,” Lola tells him gently.

When they start to form Motley Crue, only Mick seems to recognize her a little, though he drops it when she asks him to. Looking from Nikki to Lola, he gets a strangely fond, knowing glint in his eye, and looks to Lola with a question in his eyes. Tentatively, Lola gives the slightest smile and nod. Mick blinks a few times, surprised, but can’t help his own smile as he processes the information. 

He doesn’t say anything, and it takes a while for the others to catch on.

It’s almost a full year after the band forms, and they’ve gained considerable traction on The Strip, when Vince and Tommy are clued in.

“I didn’t know tattoos looked so good even after scarring,” Tommy noted during practice, seeing Lola’s record on her shoulder as she moves about the kitchen in a singlet. “Where’d you get it?” 

Lola and Nikki share a _look_.

“Born with it,” Lola tells him, pulling a cup from the counter and filling it with water. Tommy is dead silent, considering, the cogs in his mind ticking over, frowning with concentration. Lola swallows some pills and follows it with a gulp of water. 

“Are you serious?” Vince asks, catching on much faster than Tommy.

“As a heart attack,” Lola tells him with a slight smile. Nikki makes a noise in the back of his throat and Mick picks out a melody on his guitar.

“So you’re- you’ve got a -?” Vince asks, eyes wide.

“Holy shit, Lols, you’re _soulmarked_?” Tommy crows, and Lola gives a toothy grin, inclining her head to agree with him. “I’ve never met one in person,” he says, starry-eyed, and Nikki huffs a laugh, “I mean, I have, my cousin’s soulmarked, but like... _dude,_ what are the odds?!” 

“ _What are the odds_?” Lola says gently, looking directly at Nikki, who hides his laugh with a cough, trying not to ruin the bit.

“Have you met them?” Vince asks, he and Tommy looking like eager little puppies to hear more when Lola looks back at them, “your soulmate, I mean.” Mick stops his strumming, giving Lola a long suffering look. Lola, however, looks at Nikki, kinder this time.

“Yeah,” Lola says softly, and Vince and Tommy look like they’re about to explode, “I’m one of the really lucky ones.” 

“You’re killing us here, Lols,” Tommy groans, and Nikki can’t help himself, “who is it? Where are they -?”

“You really think she’d leave her soulmate?” Nikki asked with an amused snort, and the boys turn, eyes wide as saucers. “It’s me, dumbasses.” He confirms, smugly, and there’s silence as the other two process the revelation.

“ _Are you fucking kidding me_?” Vince all but yells, but he’s excited, beaming from ear to ear, “of course you assholes seem like you were made for each other, _you literally are!”_ He crows, and is immediately pestering Nikki to see his tattoo.

“This makes so much sense!” Tommy’s still looking at Lola with wide eyes, before his expression turns sunny. “You guys are so fucking lucky, holy shit!” And Lola grins; yeah, every moment with Nikki, she does tend to feel pretty lucky.


End file.
